Pack Deception: Part One, page 2
It's a five bedroom, three bath brick house on a five-thousand square foot lot. The inside looks almost completely abandoned. The staircase is falling apart. The wooden railing is missing several spokes, and the stairs are warped, squeaky deathtraps.
"It's listed for two hundred," I yell to Hudson, who has wandered into the other room.
My feet are silent as I move through the living room, the outdated carpet masking any sound.
I step into the kitchen and wrinkle my nose at the lime green and white checkered tile countertops that match the floor. The cabinets are all white but have a definite yellow tinge that makes me think the couple who used to own this place were heavy smokers.
I smell Hudson before I hear him come into the kitchen. His sandalwood and orange blossom scent wafts in and masks the underlying stale smell of the house.
"This house has a lot of potential," he grins at me, bouncing on his toes. "The bones are good, and the issues I see right off the bat would be cheap fixes. I think we could talk them down to 190, maybe 185—since it's a foreclosure—put one fifty into it and sell for close to six."
Looking around, I'm inclined to agree.
"I'll put an offer in then," I grin back.
We head out, and I lock up behind us. He starts walking to his car, and I head off to mine, having driven separately. I have a showing to go to right after this for a new client.
His phone pings, and whatever is on it makes him roll his eyes and lock the screen back before replying.
I chuckle. "Amanda again?"
He huffs out an angry breath and nods his head. "I broke it off two months ago. I don't know what she's not getting."
"It was probably that booty call after the breakup that confused the poor girl." I say 'poor girl' but really, she's crazy. She's been calling and texting him almost nonstop since he broke up with her and even crashed one of his dates a few weeks ago.
"First of all, I was drunk; second of all, it was a one time thing that I regretted immediately. I told her it was a mistake after it happened."
I snicker at the displeasure on his face. "Which I'm sure she enjoyed hearing."
"I really don't care if she enjoyed it. She just needs to move on," Hudson grumbles. He’s not a harsh person usually. Definitely the playboy, care-free one of the pack, so he must be really tied up in knots about her.
I go to say something else antagonistic because I can’t help myself, but both our phones go off at the same time. Which means it's probably our pack group text. I glance at the screen and grin at it when I see the group chat thread.
Brooklyn has changed the name to Pack Whitlock
Mason has changed the name to Chicago's Finest
That has been an ongoing battle between Mason and Brooklyn. As our pack's official leader, Brooklyn tends to be more serious. That's not to say that she isn't fun or doesn't let loose. She can party with the best of them, but with work and everyday life, she's more conservative. Nothing like Mason, our pack beta. He's the comic relief in our pack. Every situation is an opportunity for good-natured ribbing.
Mason
I'm stuck out of town. The photoshoot ran over, and I missed my flight. Next one out is tomorrow morning. But I'll be there for the bar crawl.
His text was accompanied by a meme of several people partying in green clothing. The St. Patty's Day bar crawl he is dragging Hudson and I to. Brooke has bowed out, opting to spend time with her on-again-off-again girlfriend instead. Reading his text though has me groaning. I was looking forward to spending time with my beta tonight. He's been gone the last few days, and I miss his goofy ass.
While Brooklyn, Hudson, Mason, and I are all pack, only Mason and I are in a relationship. Brooklyn isn't attracted to us in that way—any man, really. She's strictly into the ladies and has stolen one out from under us on several occasions. Much to our chagrin. I have to hand it to our pack leader: girl has some serious game. Charisma oozes out of every one of her pores when she wants it to.
Hudson has joined Mason and I once or twice, but he's not emotionally invested the way Mason and I are to each other. So they both date outside the pack. But really, we're all just dating around and hoping we find our fated mates. Just like everyone else. I'll always love Mason, but it's the dream, the one your parents tell you fairy tales about growing up. The hope we all harbor of finding the one person destined for us. Our perfect match in every way. Unfortunately, the odds of finding your fated mate are so slim, most people lose hope somewhere in their twenties.
Not Pack Whitlock, though. Nope. All four of us are still holding out hope we'll find our perfect match or matches, and we're all either late twenties or early thirties. I have a theory that we're all destined for the same person, though, since we fit together as a pack so well as it is.
Me
My bed will be lonely without you. xxx
What? I'm a romantic at heart, despite my gruff appearance. Sue me.
Brooke
Gross. Keep it in your pants.
Mason
I'll video call you later. *winky face*
My blood heats at his text. It won't be the same, but at least I have something to look forward to tonight. A new text pops up, this time from my next client. Shit.
"I gotta head out. I'll see you at home for dinner," I shout to Hudson, jump into my car and pull out of the driveway of our potential new project. I send a quick text before getting on the main road.
Me
Can't wait. x
I'm leaning against my car in the airport terminal, waiting to pick up my beta. He could have taken a cab and met us at the first bar, but I missed him so I offered to pick him up instead. With my arms crossed against my chest, toe tapping, and eyes darting between the three possible doors he could exit the airport from, I’m getting antsy. His flight landed forty minutes ago, so he should be coming out any minute.
Five minutes later, I'm ready to go inside to meet him halfway, when I see a head of shoulder length blonde hair and a perpetually happy face ambling towards me. His mouthwatering scent of summer rain and freshly mowed grass has me half-hard before he even touches me.
"Miss me?" Mason taunts with a smirk when he gets within touching distance. Instead of answering, I grab the front of his shirt and yank him roughly against my body. One hand snakes into the hair at the nape of his neck as I slam my lips to his.
He groans, the vibrations running through me. I lick the seam of his lips, and he opens for me without hesitation. My tongue tangles with his in a sensual caress as I pour all three days worth of love and missing him into the kiss.
I'm painfully hard at this point, which Mason uses to his advantage by rubbing against my raging erection, and I have to pull back before we get carried away. His eyes are still closed when I pull away, and he tries to chase my lips on instinct. Lust pours off him, and I cackle at his dazed expression. My laugh breaks him from his haze, and he scowls at me. The effect is lessened by the twinkle in his hazel eyes.
All of a sudden, he's back to his giddy, boyish persona. "Alright, let's get drunk!"
Mason picks up his bag that he had dropped to the ground during our heated make-out and digs around before pulling out a pin.
He shoves it to my chest and gives me an exasperated look. "I knew you wouldn't be wearing anything green or festive, so I got this for you."
I look down at the pin in my hand and roll my eyes at the cheesy phrase on it. Mason, on the other hand, looks obnoxiously festive. He's got on a tight green Henley t-shirt, green and white checkered pants. His whole arm is shoved in his bag as he goes back to rummaging in it.
He pulls out a handful of beads that he immediately tosses over his own neck, much to my relief, and places a headband with two four-leaf clovers bouncing back and forth by springs into his soft blonde hair.
"Alright goofball, let's go. Hudson is meeting us there."
An hour later, all three of us are feeling good, heading toward tipsy. We've been at the first bar for about forty minutes and each of us had a few shots, nursing a beer in between.
"Are we ready to head to the next bar?" Hudson asks, and Mason and I nod our agreement. I look at the bar crawl list on my phone, and it says the next bar is The Hog's Head, Ava’s bar. Ava is notorious around these parts. Everyone has a very healthy level of respect for the way she runs her business and how she treats her patrons. Even the drunk, aggressive, belligerent ones. She’s firm, but fair, and it’s how we met her in the first place. We’d gotten into a small tiff with an alpha male who was trying to challenge Brooklyn when she rebuffed his advances. Before it could go to blows, in comes Ava with her all wood baseball bat that is knicked to hell from overuse, and the alpha asshole backs down immediately. Ava put him in a cab and that was that. We’ve been friends ever since.
The pub is just a few doors down from the bar we're currently in so we make good time walking, we flash our bar crawl bracelets—having already paid the fee for these bars today—and head inside.
The place is definitely a shithole—no offense to Ava, of course—with chipped wooden tables, ripped vinyl seats, and cheap glasses and silverware. But it does have killer food and liquor, and it's packed. The last place was already pretty empty by the time we got there since we were about an hour late to start the crawl. This one seems to be where most of the crawlers are. It's wall to wall green in here, with only one or two people wearing what looks like their typical clothing.
Mason spots a free table and grabs both mine and Hudson's hands to drag us over before anyone else can take it. It's a tall, round table with no chairs so we'll have to stand, but at least we have something to lean on. Ava’s place is about two-thousand square feet with an open concept. The back two walls house booths for sit down food, which are currently overflowing with people. Some sitting on laps and sipping cocktails. There’s a small makeshift dance floor in front of them—for this crawl presumably—that usually has tables in its place. Ava did keep some of the tall, round tables in place, like the one we commandeered, and then the bar runs the length of the whole wall to the left of the door when you walk in.
"I'll go get us the first round," I yell over the music and turn toward the bar top. It's crowded, but most of the people around the bar are talking and enjoying the music, not ordering, so I manage to step right up, and I raise my hand to flag down the bartender.
Her back is to me right now, so I have a direct view of her delectable figure. She's got a perfect hourglass shape with the best ass I've ever seen on a woman. The perfect size and so round I want to sink my teeth into it. Her brunette hair cascades down her back in soft curls.
The omega beauty finally turns my way when I call out to get her attention and sees my raised hand. A breeze blows in from the open door behind her, and her scent of honey and nutmeg reaches me just as her eyes lock with mine.
Mate.
Holy shit. Holy. Shit. I've found her. My fated mate.
I fucking found her. I don't believe it.
My alpha hounds me incessantly. Mine. Mate. Claim.
She's sauntering over to me, hips swaying enticingly, making my mouth water with her sweet omega scent, and my pulse picks up. My heart is beating so fast I'm sure everyone within a five foot radius can hear it.
Seconds feel like hours as I wait impatiently for her to recognize she's my mate, too. Except she doesn't. She stops right in front of me, and there's nothing. No recognition in her eyes beyond a flash of interest. But it's there and gone in a second like she finds me attractive but doesn't want to act on it.
My alpha keens in my chest, taking her dismissal as rejection. Hurt flashes through me before I push it back, leaving only confusion behind. Why can't she feel what I feel? Or does she feel it and is simply ignoring it? I didn't think that was possible. You can't just ignore the bond to your destined mate.
My mate is speaking to me, asking me something, but I'm only listening on a superficial level. I think she's asking for my drink order, so I mumble some nonsense and go back to watching her intently. She doesn't look like she's in pain. She'd be feeling discomfort at least to some degree if she felt the bond and ignored it. Her omega would demand she acknowledge it.
She's back in front of me, handing me three green colored beers, and I shake myself out of my thoughts. The deafening sounds of the bar filter back in, and I actually hear her voice for the first time. It's sweet and lyrical and fits her perfectly.
Goddess, she's beautiful. So much so it's painful to look at her. But she's looking at me now, and she looks just as confused as I feel. Only I imagine she's feeling confused because some weirdo is leering at her, and I'm confused because my mate can't tell she's my mate.
Never in a million years would I have imagined myself in this situation. I had two seconds of being deliriously happy before my heart was torn out of my chest. I grab the three drinks and walk away before I do something stupid like grab my omega and lock her up in our home until she realizes she's mine.
I'm still hard from her scent by the time I get to the table, completely pent up with a combination of sexual desire, frustration, and hurt, so I set the drinks down on the circular table before I grab Mason's face in both my hands and slam my lips to his.
His eyes flare with surprise, and then he's kissing me back. I pull away first, and Mason grins at me. "What was that for?" Mirth rich in his tone.
"I found her," I croak. "I found my mate."
Hudson and Mason's jaws both drop at my pained words.
"What do you mean you found her?" Hudson demands. "Why do you look like you just got nut punched?"
"I don't know... I could tell right away she was mine. My alpha basically wanted to mount her right behind the bar in front of everyone, but she..." I pause trying to articulate what just happened. "I don't know guys, it's like she can't even tell."
"What do you mean she can't tell?" Hudson barks, sounding like a broken record.
"I don't know!" I snap, feeling off kilter and hating it. "Look at her," I tell them both, wondering if she's their mate, too, and hoping my theory that we'd share a mate is right.
Both of their heads turn, and they stare at the brunette beauty. I glance that way, too, and it takes a second, but her eyes dart to our table, and she locks eyes with first Mason, then Hudson.
I hear twin gasps come from them. "She's yours, too. Isn't she?" I demand.
"Yeah," they both say, wonder and longing in their voices.
"What the fuck?" Hudson growls, his knuckles turning white on the table like he's holding himself back from something. "What's wrong with her?"
I almost punch him in his stupid face for daring to call our mate defective in any way, but I see his gaze is fixed on her in a look of concern. Turning back to our mate, my body goes rigid as I see her bent over with her arm tucked protectively against her stomach. Her beautiful face is twisted up in agony, and I fight to control my alpha, who wants to stomp over there and demand to know what's wrong so we can fix it.
Then as quick as it came, she stands back up and frowns down at her stomach, clearly as surprised as we are.
"What's wrong with her?" Mason whispers.
"I don't know, but we need to leave before I go completely caveman," my whisper back is harsh.
They both nod, and we head out the door a second later, making a point not to glance back so we aren't tempted to push her just yet. It takes every ounce of strength I possess to walk away from her now that I've found her. I'm sure Hudson and Mason feel the same.
We're not giving up though. No, we just need to regroup and figure out why our mate can't tell she's ours.
Three
Summer
I'm sitting in the waiting room of a doctor's office, my knee bouncing with nerves. I've tried to avoid this since I can't give the doctor my real name, insurance information, or documentation. I considered going to an ER that wouldn't ask for it, but that would be an expensive visit. One I can't afford right now.
Then I found this office online, and there were a few reviews that suggested this place was very accepting of omegas in troubling situations. That's what I try to focus on as I sit on the edge of this uncomfortable waiting room chair and stare around at the deeply impersonal feel of the office. There aren't any pictures. No art on the wall or games for children to play. It looks like they set up shop in this building just last week, and my nerves are going haywire, hoping I'm not about to get my kidney stolen and sold on the black market.
After several minutes of seriously considering leaving, pain assaults my stomach again. I barely contain my agonized groan. This is why I'm staying. It's been almost a week since St. Patty's Day, and these aches and cramps have been coming more frequently. It's not normal, and it's not heat pains. My next heat isn't due for a few more weeks at least.
I'm lost in my thoughts when the door to my left opens, and a pretty young beta pokes her head out. "Summer?" she calls, looking directly at me. The only other people in this waiting room are men in their 50's or 60's so it's not a big jump to assume I'm who she's looking for.
"That's me," I croak, still feeling the ghost of pain in my abdomen.
She gives me a dazzling, friendly smile and ushers me through the door to a hallway with patient exam rooms on either side. I'm instructed through the basics. The pretty beta nurse checks my height, weight, blood pressure, and a few other essentials. She pulls up a chart and starts asking me what brought me in. I list my symptoms, when they started, and when they got worse. She frowns while listening to me, but I can't be sure if she's just concentrating on getting all the information down or if she's concerned by what she hears.
“Would you say this started before or after you began the heat and bond suppressants?” she asks me in a matter of fact tone. One I’m not fooled by, seeing as she is avoiding eye contact with me. I confirm it was after, which earns me another nod.
